


Consorting

by NamedAfterTheDog



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Trip to Bespin (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamedAfterTheDog/pseuds/NamedAfterTheDog
Summary: Leia Organa: rebel princess, leader of a proscribed terrorist organisation.Han Solo: spice smuggler, Imperial deserter.On the run from the Empire, heading towards Bespin.Consorting all the way.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Consorting

Han Solo surfaced from sleep like a cetacean cresting through the calm waters of a protected bay. Eyes shut, his other senses came on-line as instinctively as if he was piloting his ship. The beginning of a smile crooked his lips as he became aware of the slight woman next to him: Her warmth; her scent; the gentle exhale of breath; the memory of her taste on his tongue. Outside the relative quiet of the cabin, the _Falcon’s_ sublight engines rumbled in the distance.

Han had woken like this—lying in his bunk next to Leia Organa—for the past six ship-days. He’d forgotten how many times he’d been tempted to pinch himself, to punch himself in the face, to question if this really was happening. He was sleeping with Leia Organa, and she was sleeping with him.

Of course, there was more than sleep happening in his bunk. Their desires repeatedly drew them back to his cabin whenever they wanted, regardless of what else they had been doing. All the hopes—dreams, fantasies—Han had had for the last three years had come true. He was finally loving Leia, and sometimes, he dared to believe she loved him back.

Han didn’t want to think about how long they had left to enjoy this. The numbers haunted him: Each second, every minute a countdown he wanted to ignore. Forty-eight days left of this flight to Bespin. Maybe a week’s respite on Cloud City for repairs and relaxation. A few more weeks to track down a rebel cell that would help hook them up with the Alliance Fleet or a staging base that he didn’t know about. And then this unbelievable, fragile moment they were sharing would crash to an end. Time and reality would cave in on them like a stellar-mass gravity well, sucking and pulling apart whatever it was that was going on between them.

Leia was the only thing giving him hope. The fact that she had readily decided to spend so much more than time with him was Han’s only element of optimism in all of this. He didn’t believe she was only using him for sex, and to stave off the boredom of sublight, interstellar flight. There was genuine tenderness and affection between them. If she thought it was worth her effort to sleep with him, something good had to come out of this. He’d work out a way to remain with Leia, sort out the bounty on his head, and finally tell her that he loved her.

Sitting on half of the pillow they shared, Leia reclined back against the bunk’s cushioned bulkhead, legs angled up to support the datapad she was reading. Her hand rested where the base of his neck and shoulder met, as his nose gently prodded into the curve of her hip. The lower hem of her t-shirt—just one piece of his clothes she had taken to wearing—hid the side of his face, and the covers were pulled over her bare legs and his naked body.

Han’s hand slowly snaked under her t-shirt and across her lap, until he could cup his palm around her far hip. Bending his legs, he tucked them beneath her feet. Wordlessly, Leia placed one foot on his thigh and slid the other between his knees. He snuggled his cheek against her, pressed a kiss to her skin. Leia raised the t-shirt from his face, and he tilted his head to look up at her, his focus sharpening as sleep haze drifted from his eyes.

Ignoring the datapad, she raised an eyebrow and a heart-stopping smile. “My old man is finally awake.”

His grin broadened at her possessive use of the word ‘my’, more than happy she thought of him as ‘hers’. It had taken three years, and he had fought most of the way, but he was finally comfortable with the idea of belonging, if only to her.

“Hey, enough of the old,” he lightly grumbled. “Not my fault I’m stuck with second-rate male anatomy that makes me crash and burn. Not all of us can have coaxium-shattering climaxes multiple times and bounce right back from ’em.”

She made a _tsk_ ing noise in her mouth. “You seem rather taken with your second-rate male anatomy when you’re intent on seducing me.”

“If I remember rightly,” he pointed out, “so do you.”

She thoughtfully nodded. “I believe I have to concur with that observation.”

_Ah, Leia..._

Even when she was trying to talk dirty to him in bed, she sounded like a princess. Then he wondered if he had stretched the limits of this new stage of their relationship by falling asleep on her after they made love. He’d briefly napped on her once before, _after_ the main event. In his defence, he was putting real effort into making sure she was always completely and utterly satisfied, invariably to the point where she couldn’t speak, twitching and gasping for several minutes while she recovered.

The hour they had just spent together during the mid-day-cycle meal break had wiped him out. Leia was amazingly talented at arousing him to the point where he exploded like a coronal mass ejection once he had met her needs, so it was mainly her fault he had needed a quick snooze straight after.

“How long have I been I asleep?”

“Your usual thirty minutes,” she said.

Not entirely certain she was teasing, Han grimaced. “Promise you’ll let me know if I start to bore you.”

“Don’t worry.” She tweaked his nose. “You’ll know when I find you boring.”

“ _When_?”

He had barely finished his comment before Leia extended her arms out to the side and elaborately yawned. He opened his mouth to make a smart-ass remark but stopped as she moved to stretch her arms above her head, all the while audibly yawning and sighing. Han shunted his head and shoulders back onto the pillow, dramatically rolling his eyes as he waited for her to come to an end.

Leia eventually patted her hand against her lips and gave him a smile that was sugar-sweet and not quite apologetic. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“If I’m borin’ you so much, I can always leave,” he said. His suggestion was as playful as her performance, yet there was an underlying tone that could have meant more. “I’ll sleep in the cockpit. Or the airlock. That’ll give you the option of gettin’ rid of me if I’m the monotony becomes too unbearable.”

She powered off the datapad, reached down and placed it on the deck, before returning her attention to him. “Never.”

Han shifted his legs for her, and Leia slipped down under the covers next to him, propping herself up on the pillow, hand and elbow bracing her head, sitting slightly higher than him.

Twirling her fingers through the hairs on his chest, she told him, “I’ve grown rather fond of you and your second-rate male anatomy.”

Another first for him: No one had ever said they were fond of him.

He draped his arm over her waist, slid one of his legs between hers. “Very kind of you. Y’know I’m only here to please you.”

“You are exceptionally pleasing,” she said.

“Do I get the royal seal of approval?”

“You certainly do.” She leaned forward, brushed her lips across his forehead, a kind of blessing as far as Han was concerned. “I may even grant you a warrant of appointment and keep you in my service.”

The warm, fluttering whirlpool that had taken up residence in his chest and stomach kicked up a notch. It was as if a star had gone nova, brightly glowing inside his torso and radiating out to his arms and legs. She made him feel incredible. It didn’t matter if she didn’t feel the same way about him that he felt about her; he imagined _this_ was what it felt like to be loved. Once, the idea of loving someone and being loved in return would have sent him flying in the opposite direction, throwing the levers and hitting hyperspace before the nav’puter had made the calculations. That same idea—of loving someone and being loved—was now as overwhelming and addictive as spice. He craved any scrap of her attention and affection she cared to throw his way.

Han tugged her closer, rested one hand on her hip. “Gotta be illegal to feel like this. This good. This happy.”

She pushed her fingers through his hair, rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “If you’re involved, I’m guarantee there’s something not entirely lawful about it.”

He couldn’t argue with her, never wanted to argue with her again if it meant always feeling like this. “Lazin’ in bed in the middle of the day. Sex. You. All illegal in certain parts of the galaxy.”

“Thanks very much.”

“Just callin’ it for what it is,” he said. “I can pick out criminal activity a parsec off. What we’re doin’: Gotta be illegal. I could get arrested just for consortin’ with you.”

“Well,” she remarked, “I promise to visit when they haul you off to the detention centre.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh, partner-in-crime. You’ll be comin’ with me. You see, I’ll be givin’ you up as soon as the interrogation starts.”

She nodded at him, evidently understanding the situation. “Is that right?”

“I’m no good with pain. The second the torture starts, I’ll be squealin’ like a puffer pig.”

“Hmm...” She took a moment to consider a response. “I’d say you sound more like an arctos bear than a puffer pig.”

Han’s eyes widened. “When did you become a zoological expert?”

“I’m not. But I like to consider myself an expert in you, and the grunts and groans you make in bed.”

Her comment took him aback—particularly her claim of knowing him well enough to be considered an expert. She was right: She knew him the way no one else did, and that didn’t scare him either.

His smile was small, but it beamed delight and affection. “I’ve completely corrupted you.”

“Oh, I’ve been a willing accomplice in that corruption, partner-in-crime. But like you said, I’m calling it for what it is, and that is, you get rather vocal during your thralls of passion.”

_‘Thralls of passion._ ’

No woman he had been with had ever talked like that to him. He didn’t know whether to be intimidated, turned on or both. Instead, he filed away that highfalutin description for future use.

Caressing his cheek against hers, he rumbled into her ear, “Can’t blame a guy for being swept away when he’s consortin’ with you.”

She placed her hands on his chest, smoothed her fingers along his collarbones. “I take it when you say ‘swept away’, you really mean moaning so loudly that poor Chewie can’t—”

Han dropped his chin towards his chest and came to an abrupt halt. “Kriff.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and swore again. “I’m s’posed to help Chewie with the results of those diagnostics you ran. Said we’d only be a few minutes.”

She gaped at him and pulled away, settling next to him on her side. “You told him we’d only be a few minutes?”

He winced. “It was always gonna be longer than that.”

“I should hope so.”

“No way you’d let me get away with a just few minutes.”

She arched a brow. “Consorting is a skill that requires patience and consideration. It can’t be rushed.”

“And what about when you tell me you want it hard and fast?” Slow, fast, hard, gentle—anything she wanted, anyhow, anywhere—he was willing to give it to her, and had.

“You can be hard and fast, and still take your time,” she pointed out. “Remember: I’m an expert in ‘Han Solo’.”

_Whatever._ He wisely kept that thought unspoken, annoyed with himself that he had let Chewie down–again—failed in his promise to get his head out of his cabin, his dick out of his bunk, and back into undertaking vital and continual maintenance on the _Falcon_ , otherwise the chances of them reaching Bespin in one piece, if at all, could be at risk.

“Looks like I’m the one doing the corrupting. I’m the terrible influence,” Leia said.

“Yeah,” Han agreed, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. “You’re a bad woman, Organa.”

What little self-control he had quickly vanished where she was concerned. He could be aiming to do one thing and all she had to do was look at him or touch him or say his name in a certain way, and he was headed back to his bunk with her. And he loved it: Loved being completely _in love_ with her and so wrapped up in _making love_ with her that he totally forgot everything else. Right now, he didn’t know whether to go help Chewie—an hour and a half late—or stay and continue what he’d planned on doing with Leia.

“Poor baby,” she cooed, ruffling his hair. “Did that mean and nasty princess tie you up and make you consort with her?”

“Ha. You wish.” Her taunt would’ve turned him on if he hadn’t been busy berating himself and working through his options.

She gave him a cheeky grin. “Perhaps you’ll let me do that to you later?”

His ears finally caught up with his brain: _Did she just offer to tie me up? Great. That’s really gonna help me work out what to do._

Frustrated, he threw his head back, swallowed an irritated growl. “If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better—”

“Hey, don’t worry about Chewie.” Her sudden change in tone stopped his self-pity party. “He’s having a break.” In response to his frown, she explained, “After we’d finished _consorting_ , and you fell asleep—I hasten to add, yet again,” she teased, “I went to get us something to drink. Bumped into Chewie in the galley.”

Han quickly ditched all thought of his friend as he focused on the picture she had conjured in his mind. “You walked naked around my ship?”

Leia angled her head, motioned with her chin towards the t-shirt she was wearing. “What do you think?”

_Wrong picture._ “Wishful thinkin’.”

“Right.” Indulgently shaking her head, she continued. “Chewie asked me to go with him to the cockpit and get Threepio out of there so he could recalibrate the avionics in peace. At least, I think that’s what he said. So, I put Threepio in the forward hold to power down and re-charge, and left Chewie to it. He’s probably still in there, along with the deci-pak of beer he took with him.”

Han screwed up his face. “He was gonna recal the avis with ten flasks of Gizers under his pelt? And you believed him?”

The look she gave him immediately put paid to any idea he’d had that she was _that_ gullible. “There was no way I was questioning Chewie’s integrity,” she told him. “He’s maintaining the ship, trying to keep himself occupied, and giving us some privacy. You have to admit, we haven't been particularly good friends or shipmates towards him since we’ve been consorting.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Han shook his head at himself for being a damn, selfish idiot. “You’re right.” That wasn’t a phrase he regularly used. “We haven’t been fair. Chewie’s missin’ his mate. Guess it must feel like we’re rubbin’ his nose in it.” It was probably best to leave the Wook alone in the cockpit with his memories, even if a whole deci-pak of beer would hardly make him drunk.

“Malla? His mate’s name is Malla? Is that right?”

The simple fact of Leia remembering the name of Chewie’s bond-mate, brightened Han’s mood: Leia cared for Chewie as much as he did.

“Guess we’ve gone from bein’ at each other’s throats, to bein’ at each other’s throats,” he said, stroking his thumb across a discolouration he’d recently left on the side of her neck.

Leia bared her teeth against his chin, scraping the stubble of his beard as she spoke into his skin; he’d given Leia all his attention at the beginning of the day-cycle instead of wasting time shaving, but he knew she liked him a bit rough around edges.

“And I thought you liked me nibbling you.”

His eyes flickered shut and he slanted his head to one side. This woman would be the life and death of him. “I love it. Promise me you’ll never stop.”

A soft kiss under the arc of his chin, and then her hand moved into his hair. She stroked it away from his ear, circled a finger around the outer edge, traced a path down the line of his jaw, around the sharp turn and towards his chin.

“I think this is my favourite part of you,” she said.

Eyes still closed, he swept his hands from her hips, up her back, over her shoulder blades and down her spine, feeling her body respond to his caress. “Not what you said half an hour ago.”

“That was half an hour ago, scoundrel.” She tracked the flat of four fingers along the angle of his jaw. “But this part right here, I have loved the longest.”

Han remained quiet, enjoying her touch and the intimacy. They had previously talked about how they had deliberately set out to frustrate the hell out of one another during the many months of their growing attraction. She had also made girlish admissions as well as sensual confessions about what she liked about him once he had made his way around her body, kissing every square centimetre of her, as he had frequently dreamed about.

“I think you could quite safely say that I have obsessed over your jawline since Day One.”

He met her gaze again. “Well, let me reward your dedication to my jaw by giving it to you.”

She laced both arms around his neck and matter-of-factly explained, “I’m afraid your very generous offer is obsolete as I have already assumed proprietorial control over your jawline.”

This woman was so far out of his league he may as well have been competing in another galaxy. “That right?”

She gave one no-nonsense nod, the same way he’d watched her deal with troops who needed correction and direction. “I intend filing the title deeds once we reach Bespin.”

He knew he was gone. There was no way of fighting this; no way he wanted to. “What else have I lost?”

She looked at him. “You mean, apart from your innocence?”

He grinned. “Apart from that.”

A redness tinged her cheeks, as if she was unsure how he would react to her disclosure. “Your voice.”

“You like my voice?”

Her eyes sparkled, the way he’d only seen since they’d been sleeping together. “I adore your voice. When you say my name, my toes curl.”

He visibly gulped, unsure how to respond. “I take it toe-curling is a good thing?”

“It is most definitely a good thing.” She seemed rather proud of her admission.

Somehow, Han loved her even more for it.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. “This isn’t my real voice. I've been puttin’ it on to impress you. Make your toes curl.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and she had the good grace not to laugh at him, taming her amusement by placing her upper lip over her bottom lip and cocking her head at him. She could have asked anything of him now, and he would do it, no questions asked.

“Oh, so what do you really sound like?”

He noisily cleared his throat, widened his eyes and his grin. “’Scuse me, Princess Leia.” His tone was higher, and he spoke in a goofy, greasy manner that simultaneously made her smile and cringe. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

She burst into laughter, exactly what he wanted.

“I heard you like consortin’ with nice men, so I was wonderin’ if I could interest you in a kiss, seein’ as I’m one of those nice men.”

He pouted his lips and made a ridiculous smooching, kissing sound.

“Oh, gods, no.” She placed her hand across his mouth. “I think I've made a terrible mistake.”

He half-heartedly tried moving his head away from her hand, but she kept her palm across his mouth. It didn’t stop him, and he was able to speak in the same high-pitched tone. “Somethin’ wrong, Princess? Are your toes—”

Leia firmly placed her second hand over the top of her first and succeeded in muffling his voice.

“—curlin’ yet?”

If she had been heavier, she would have pinned him to the bunk as she lay on top of him, both hands skewed across his nose, chin and mouth.

“No no no no no!”

He increased the pitch of his voice. “Doncha want me to talk now?”

Hands on her hips, he held her in place, her legs straddling his waist, sniggering and squirming, fumbling to keep his mouth shut. He found it hilarious, adorable, and achingly arousing. No one, he guaranteed, had ever seen Leia act like this: Uninhibited, mischievous, giggling and enjoying every moment. He aimed to keep it that way, keep her all for himself.

“You’re ruining it for me!” she practically squealed.

“Ruinin’ what? This is what I really sound like!”

“Please stop!”

Han suddenly went still, pressed his lips together, gave her a serious look. It took her a moment to realise he was no longer trying to talk or fight for control of his voice. Cautiously, she lifted her hands from his face. He audibly popped his mouth open, and she quickly pressed her hands across it again before he could say anything. They maintained a stalemate for a few seconds, Leia sitting astride him, hands firmly over his mouth. Then he stuck his tongue between a gap in her fingers. She clamped her fingers together, capturing his tongue.

“Owlll,” he lisped, before retracting his tongue back into his mouth.

Snipping the fingers on both hands as if they were two pairs of scissors, Leia gave him a menacing look.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “My tongue is a piece of precision equipment. Damage that, and I guarantee your life will be a whole less enjoyable and whole lot more borin’. And none of it will be my fault.”

“For once,” she added, wiggling on top of him. Her threatening grin turned into a delicate chuckle, and she dropped her hands to his chest. “Funny, but I used to think you were too old for me, old man.” She moved her lips to a position above his. “Now, I’m wondering how or why I ever thought that.”

The kiss was slow and gentle, his bottom lip between both of hers. He followed her lead, her pace, responding to her caresses and nudges with restraint, savouring her tongue as it coasted across his teeth and into his mouth. When she pulled her head back from his, the hyperfuel was simmering in his veins.

She traced the scar on his chin with her fingertip. “How about after we’ve finished here, we make a nice meal for Chewie with the last of the fresh food, a celebratory dinner before we move onto reconstituted rations. We’ll spend some time with him. Have a few drinks. Listen to music. Play a game.”

Han wrinkled his nose at her and spoke deep in his throat, “I like playin’ games with you.”

Leia kissed his cheek and said, “I know you do, but I mean we’ll play a game _with_ _Chewie_. Dejarik, sabacc, his choice. Let’s keep him company for a few hours.”

As much as he didn’t want to agree with her suggestion, it was an unselfish idea that he knew he needed to go along with. He owed that much to Chewie. It would also give Leia and himself a chance to practise how to behave as a couple in public—without groping and necking with each other—before they reached Bespin and had to do it for real in front of more than one other person.

She briefly kissed him on the mouth, added, “And then later, you and I will play a different game.”

“In bed?” he asked, needing to clarify exactly what it was she was proposing.

“Maybe we should try somewhere else for a change.”

He couldn’t help the gush of breath he released. “Sweetheart, I’m startin’ to worry that you weren’t jokin’ about me borin’ you, even if I know how much you enjoy my tongue.”

She sat up again, ran her hands down the line of his ribs. “What if we see what the view is like from the cockpit?”

That stopped him in his tracks. He’d never considered spending any time making love with Leia outside of his bunk, except maybe in the ’fresher. He had a dirty mind, but his imagination obviously wasn’t as vivid as hers.

She had slid back to his hips, and the top of his navel was just visible between her legs; she ran a finger around it. “You could always push a few buttons, pump the odd lever, and let me put my hands on your control yoke.”

A sly smile slid up the side of his face, and he had stop himself from saying _‘I love you.’_ “Keep talkin’ like that and I'll follow you anywhere.”

“That’s the idea, Captain.”

The supernova inside him flared up again. If he had the option, he would commit himself to her today. If that involved marriage, then so be it.

He wanted to know, “And what are we finishing here?”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to continue consorting with my partner-in-crime.” Her hands were burning trails of desire across his skin. “Reward him for all the unlawful acts he has performed on me.”

Her imagination was unquestionably vivid, and far filthier than anything he could come up with.

“Unlawful,” he ventured, “but I hope not unpleasant.”

The smile she gave him appeared small and coy at first, then quickly became sensual and daring. “Give me your hand.”

Intrigued but not sure where this was headed, Han held his hand out to her, palm facing up. Eagerness, happiness, hunger and love boiled under his skin.

Leia took his hand in hers and drew a circle on his palm with her finger. “Now the other one.” He did as she requested, and she repeated the action, smiling to herself, then at him. “Leave them like that.” He did as she instructed.

She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it over her head. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips as he watched her remove her shirt. He would never get over watching her undress, even if now they did it casually, and with trust and respect.

Holding the ends of the t-shirt in each hand in front of her chest, Leia spun it to form a length of fabric. She looped the shirt around his wrists, tied the ends over in a loose knot and smiled at him again.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to tie you up now instead of later. I don’t think I can wait until after dinner.”

Overwrought with—he had no idea what—Han was speechless. He could barely get out a slow nod of agreement as the blood rushed from his head.

He lifted his hips and Leia with them, shuffled down the bed until he was flat on his back. As he started to raise his arms, she placed her hands on his biceps and pushed his bent arms above his head, until his bound hands were wedged between the pillow and the bulkhead. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to break the spell, dissolve the dream. From the determined but tender look on Leia’s face, he doubted he would scare her off, but that was also a possibility.

With her hands holding his arms, she leaned over him, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the angle of his jaw and softly murmured, “Mine.”

He nearly lost it there.

Leia moved his chin with hers, tilted his head and kissed the other side of his jaw. “Mine.”

Trembling, his eyes closed in reverence.

Her mouth opened over the laryngeal prominence on his neck, and she gently teased his skin with her teeth, whispered, “Mine.”

He deeply swallowed, his larynx bobbing as he met her eyes again. He watched as she stroked his collarbones, down his chest. Holding his gaze, she circled a fingertip around the dimpled outer rim of his nipple, and bit into the hardening skin.

He moaned.

“That’s definitely a bear,” Leia said.

**Author's Note:**

> Han Solo tied up with a big bow on the top, just for you!  
> I hope you enjoy.


End file.
